


6 Weeks Later

by Beeker



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Angry Cloud, Cloud will likely go mad by the end, Emo Cloud, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Jealous Cloud, Tifa sails all the ships, mostly fluff because I'm rubbish at smut, obviously angst, possibly too much angst, probably ooc but i don't care
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23678971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beeker/pseuds/Beeker
Summary: A mission goes awry, forcing Cloud away from home for an extended period of time. On the return journey his inner demons resurface, convincing him that Tifa has moved on and into the arms of another. Cloud soon finds himself standing outside Seventh Heaven while colorful “what if” scenarios play through his mind.
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife, Tifa Lockhart/Vincent Valentine
Comments: 9
Kudos: 61





	1. Promises

Reeve was a former companion in arms and a valuable ally in the effort to restore the planet but, most importantly, he was a friend. So when, in the months following the battle with Deepground, this friend confided that whispers of another global threat had emerged, Cloud felt obligated to help.

“I'll only be gone a few days,” he stated confidently, tossing an extra pair of gloves into a worn leather satchel. He paused to inspect the variety of potions lined up on his desk. “A week at most.”

Tifa watched quietly from the doorway of his bedroom, arms crossed, eyes following him intently.

“It's a simple recon mission.”

Cloud was tasked with investigating several abandoned laboratories to secure Hojo's missing files and gathering intelligence from WRO members stationed in the area. Perhaps fight a monster or two along the way. Considering some of the other favors he had done over the years in the name of friendship or saving the world, this mission was practically a vacation.

“Nothing I can't handle,” with a decisive nod, perhaps more to assure himself than Tifa, Cloud grabbed a handful of potions and deposited them into his bag.

The Remnants had been defeated, Sephiroth's return halted and the Geostigma cured. The events at the church had healed more than just Cloud's physical wounds – his memories began to unravel from those belonging to Zack. The guilt weighing on his damaged heart started to gradually recede. He learned, day by day, to let go of the past without forgetting. He learned to accept who the real Cloud was and who he could become given time. He learned to smile again.

“Marlene and Denzel can call whenever they want. You too. I'll answer.”

He had promised to go. He had promised to aid a friend. Cloud longed for the open road and to sleep under the stars and the excitement that stemmed from battle and adventure. He wanted to go.

But he had promised to stay. Cloud had promised to remain close to Edge and be ever present in the lives of Tifa and the kids. The thought of leaving now stirred up those old feelings of guilt and shame. Leaving was selfish, impractical and quite possibly dangerous. He wanted to stay.

“Tifa?”

Their relationship was somewhat...unconventional. Born of a one-sided childhood crush, his youthful infatuation with the pretty girl next-door and vow to protect her paved the way to his involvement with Shinra and SOLDIER. Fate saw fit to bring them together once more, years after Sephiroth's rampage and Hojo's experiments. Cloud's being had been too entrenched in living Zack's life then, the pull of the charming Cetra too great, for his tangled web of memories and fragile heart to take notice. An awkward sort of love triangle formed despite the slow return of his own thoughts and feelings. Aerith's untimely death only complicated matters. He had responded in the end by pushing Tifa away - casting her into the realm of friend or business partner or co-parent – yet she remained, forever patient and understanding. Whatever they were to each other now was not something Cloud could put into words. Perhaps there were no words for all that they had shared together.

Cloud let out a heavy sigh, the satchel falling to the desk in front of him. He turned around to look at her. “Say something.”

“Cloud...” Tifa started softly, the bright smile touching her lips unable to fully mask the concern in her eyes. “You're right.”

“Huh?”

“You're right. Is that so hard to believe?”

“No...”

“Reeve wouldn't have asked if it wasn't important. I trust him.”

“Tifa...”

“And I trust you. Marlene and Denzel do too.”

“I know.”

“They'll be fine. A few days is hardly any time at all. You'll be back before they've even had a chance to miss you.”

“I...”

“Cloud!” Tifa uncrossed her arms and planted her hands firmly on her hips. It was the universal sign that her mind had been made up. There would be no more discussion. “You should help Reeve. You should go.”

Tifa had made a promise too. She had promised to trust him to handle situations in his own way. To have faith that no matter where his path may lead it would always bring him back home. It seemed she was doing her best now to keep that promise.

Cloud found he felt...disappointed? He had expected Tifa to demand he turn down the assignment – to clench her fists at her side, stomp her foot and pout like she had when they were children. No. Not expected. Wanted. He _wanted_ her to tell him not to leave. He wanted Tifa to rush toward him, hands grasping his shoulders as she pleaded with those big, expressive eyes. He would stay by her side without question. She only needed to say the words.

She didn't.

“Cloud?”

“It's decided. If everything goes well I'll see you in a week.”

* * *

Everything did not go well.

Cloud freely admitted that the first complication was of his own doing. These laboratories were in remote locations. That meant little to no cell phone service. He wandered about in the open, trying to pick up a signal, paying little mind to anything else. Two days had passed since he took off on Fenrir in the general direction supplied by Reeve. Surely Tifa or one of kids would have called him by now.

He hadn't meant to wander directly into a Behemoth. What sane person did that? By some miracle Cloud came away from the battle with only minor damage to his person. His hair and clothes were another matter entirely. The clothes could easily be replaced. His hair? That was going to take some time. The beast dropped a stardust however, so Cloud considered this chance meeting a happy accident and all-around win.

His winning streak would not last.

The first laboratory produced nothing save the coordinates for a second site. The second only provided the location of a third facility, the third leading way to a fourth, and so on and so on. Cloud crisscrossed the map, finding little of value as the hours became days and finally a week. Then two weeks.

His anger was high and his patience low when he entered a small town in the mountains to rest and refuel. Cloud planned to stay at the inn so he could enjoy a hot meal and bath (the singed hair smell still lingered). He would call Tifa to let her melodic voice lull him to sleep while she recounted every minute detail of her day. That call had become a nightly ritual.

A gang of locals had other ideas. Primarily ideas that involved robbing the new guy, oblivious to his prickly demeanor or the huge sword strapped to his back. They never learned.

An unfortunate casualty of that particular brawl was Cloud's cell phone. How it ended up shattered on the pavement was a mystery for the ages. He panicked and bought a new one immediately. The vendor shook slightly at the sight of him – sword drawn, still splattered in local blood – but completed the transaction without a word. It wasn't until Cloud had put a half day's ride between him and that grisly scene (stomach empty, hair still scorched at the tips) that he realized he didn't know anyone's phone number.

Four more weeks passed in much of the same manner. And drakes. So many drakes.

At the end of week six Cloud could handle no more. Had he the number he would have gladly called Reeve to quit directly, and cared not if the man became upset when the news finally made its way to his ears. Someone else could pick up this cold case. Yuffie was a prime candidate so long as Reeve was willing to throw enough materia her way. Cloud made a mental note to suggest just that if ever pressed on the matter.

The drive back to Edge didn't clear his head as much as Cloud hoped it might. The closer he came to home the more thoughts flooded into his already cluttered mind. Old fears (could Sephiroth have murdered everyone and set Edge aflame?) mingled with recent fears (would Marlene or Denzel be mad at him?) to create brand new fears (had Tifa finally given up on him?). That last one popped up far too frequently.

Seventh Heaven was dark when he arrived.

 _I'm sorry I couldn't call. I lost my phone. Yes, I remembered to buy gifts. No, those certainly aren't bite marks on my forearm. What's wrong with my hair? What's wrong with your hair?!_ Cloud rehearsed what he would say come morning when three pairs of questioning eyes settled on him at the breakfast table. He slowly approached the bar's back entrance.

Had Tifa given up on him? That pesky thought gnawed at his mind again. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach. Forgotten him? Replaced him? Found a new friend? A lover? A man who could let her know just how special she was to him? A man who would hold her close? A man who stayed without having to be asked? Was it even a man Tifa was looking for?

Cloud paused, one hand resting on the doorknob as he considered what, and who, might be waiting for him on the other side.


	2. Vincent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vincent wants to protect Tifa. And watch television.

Cloud walked as quietly as he could manage through the still bar but his footsteps were heavy and the floorboards creaked.

Heading toward the staircase he noticed the door to the “family room” was slightly ajar, a bit of light seeping out into the darkened hall. The area was meant to be used as an office or to hold excess storage. Tifa, being Tifa, had instead been determined to turn it into a room for the kids. “So they'll be closer to me when I'm in the bar,” she had reasoned. Somehow she managed to fit a sofa, threadbare carpet and cheap television set into the limited space. Toys and books soon piled up in the corners. Marlene and Denzel gladly provided the artwork – colorings of moogles, chocobos and a blonde, spiky haired fella and his motley crew of friends lined the walls. It was Cloud's favorite room.

He smiled to himself. Often times when he returned from deliveries he found Tifa in that room, TV on and exhausted from a long shift at the bar. Cloud would stare, lingering on the fullness of her lips or the delicate curve of her hip, before waking her. “Thank goodness you're home safe,” she always told him, rubbing the sleep from her tired eyes. “We missed you.”

Nudging the door open with his boot, his smiled faded.

“Cloud.”

“Vincent?” Without the red cloak Cloud barely recognized him. “What are...”

Tifa's head rested on Vincent's shoulder, lips slightly parted as her chest rose and fell with each deep breath. The arm encased in a gold gauntlet pressed Tifa against his body, hand on her hip, as she slept. His other hand held Cerberus, the triple barrel revolver pointed directly at Cloud's face.

“What are you doing?” Cloud demanded. He imagined the fear Marlene or Denzel would have experienced had they come looking looking for Tifa, in need of a glass of water or comfort from a nightmare. Both confused and irritated, Cloud did his best to maintain a neutral, unwavering tone. He was rather successful. “Put the damn gun away.”

“I heard footsteps,” A lifetime ago Vincent had been a Turk. Occasionally assignments required him to fill the role of bodyguard. That sort of training and experience didn't simply disappear once you left the job.

“Why are you here?” _This late. With Tifa. On the sofa. In our family room._

“I came here to... watch television.” Vincent hesitated for a moment before lowering his weapon.

“Television?”

“Yes.”

“I didn't think you liked television.” Cloud gestured toward the TV set. It wasn't even turned on.

He couldn't recall Vincent liking much of anything, save perhaps guns, revenge and brooding in caves. It was actually a running joke among the members of their party. While the others teased Vincent mercilessly, Cloud was more sympathetic. Mainly because he himself liked swords, revenge and brooding in churches.

 _And whiskey._ A nearly forgotten image surfaced within his mind's eye. Vincent seated at the bar. He nursed a whiskey on the rocks for the fourth time that week. Tifa hovered nearby, eyes bright and smile wide, as they chatted. Cloud had been far too preoccupied with leaving, with escaping to the church to mourn and with running away from the responsibilities of being part of a family, to put the pieces together then. The way their fingers brushed each time Tifa brought him a drink. The intimidating glares Vincent gave anyone who tried to lure her away for more than a few minutes. The increase of red cloaked gunman colorings hanging up in the family room. _And Tifa._

“How long?”

Vincent arched an eyebrow but said nothing.

“How long have you been coming here to...” Cloud's gaze flickered back to the hand possessively stationed at Tifa's hip. He swore the golden fingers tightened their grip. “...to watch television?”

The other man remained insufferably silent.

“Answer the question Vincent!”

“Vincent?” Tifa repeated, voice thick with sleep. Her eyelids fluttered open. “Are you still here?”

“Tifa,” His rigid shoulders relaxed and he sank back into the well-worn cushion, finally abandoning the hold on his weapon. The corners of Vincent's mouth curved to form just the hint of a smile. He reached up to tuck a few loose strands of hair behind her ear, letting his fingertips dance across the line of her jaw. “I'm here.”

_No. Not happening._

“Tifa!”

“Cloud?!” Tifa lifted her head. She twisted in Vincent's arms fully awake now, searching, eyes widening with panic when they found his. “You're back?”

“Yes,” Cloud took a couple of tentative steps forward. He was eager to yank Tifa up and lead her out of this room, away from Vincent and that sofa, carrying her if he must. Cloud swallowed, trying desperately to contain this inner turmoil, willing his face and words to betray the chaos of emotions (jealousy? rage? sorrow?) burning within his veins. He was not successful. “We should talk.”

“What's wrong? Did something happen?” Tifa untangled herself from Vincent's grasp and scrambled to her feet. A hand flew up to her mouth in horror. “Are the kids hurt? Are they sick?”

“They're fine,” He hoped it wasn't a lie, since he hadn't the opportunity yet to check.

Tifa nodded, letting out a sigh of relief. “You alright?”

“No. I mean, yes. I...don't know.” Cloud had to find a way to make sense of all that was going on in his head and heart so he could tell her before he lost his nerve. “Please. Let's talk.”

“Ok.”

“I...” Deep down Cloud knew this particular conversation was overdue. He had contemplated the things he would say and the ways Tifa would react over and over and over again, never quite expecting it to take place. Least of all with an audience. Cloud flashed Vincent a helpless look, hoping the man was still friend enough to understand and oblige.

“I'll go,” Vincent offered coolly as he stood, holstering his gun.

“Wait! You don't have to go,” cried Tifa, the panic returning once again to her eyes.

He strode across the room, despite continued protests from Tifa, a pained expression on his face. In the doorway Vincent paused, head bowed. His voice was soft, barely audible. “Whatever you decide...if in the end you are happy, I won't mind.”

“I don't understand,” Tifa furrowed her brow as Vincent disappeared down the darkened hallway. She turned to Cloud. “What's going on?”

His heart hammered dangerously within his chest. Cloud loved her – had always loved her if he were to be honest – and the realization was all at once terrifying and liberating. He existed today only because Tifa had carried him through the worst of life, without expectation or complaint. He wondered if he could ever truly convey how much she meant to him. He owed it to her to at least try.

_It's now or never._

“I want you to know...” Cloud opened his mouth, a string of hastily prepared declarations of love and a life together on the tip of his tongue.

“I'm so sorry. I'll be right back,” Tifa gave him a friendly pat on the arm before she too disappeared down the hallway.

He shouldn't have followed the woman who was chasing another man but Cloud was pretty good at doing things he shouldn't. He shouldn't have waited an eternity to reveal his romantic intentions, for one. He shouldn't have underestimated the allure of a dark, brooding man with a tragic past, for another. Tifa definitely had a type.

Watching from the shadows, the scene played out exactly as Cloud's bruised heart anticipated.

Tifa blocked the back entrance, pleading with big, sad eyes for an explanation. Vincent, now donning his signature red cloak and headband, made a halfhearted attempt to convince her he was a “broken monster” who had urgent matters to attend to elsewhere. She begged him to stay.

Cloud felt as he had in the Forgotten City, limbs heavy and mind numb, forced to watch as Sephiroth descended from above to cut Aerith down. Instead of Masamune it was those damn golden fingers, tangling in Tifa's hair and pulling her in for a rough kiss. A kiss that lasted (according to Cloud's thorough calculations) an eon until the two broke apart, panting.

The dull ache inside might go away given time. Cloud would go to the church and wait.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a few ideas for subsequent chapters – basically my favorite Tifa pairings. If you have any you would like to see feel free to leave suggestions. I am a slow writer though, so be patient with me!


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